


When She Was Bad (Very Bad)

by snowpuppies



Series: (Very Bad) Verse [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, F/F, F/M, Gender Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred deals with the events of Beer Bad (Very Bad). It won't make sense unless you read that first!</p>
            </blockquote>





	When She Was Bad (Very Bad)

_She grunts, sweat blossoming in the lee of her breasts, along her collarbones and trembling stomach. She's hard. **Hard**. _

_Hard, like a boy, like Tommy Jenkins was before he said they were better as friends, like the men in the pop-ups she can never close quickly enough._

_It's wrong._

_And it feels good._

_No._

_She can't feel this way, and then there's **tight** and **wet** and she grits her teeth as her whole body goes rigid, sensation tingling from her toes all the way to her scalp..._

 

She gasps awake, stickyhotsweaty under the blankets. She wrestles the weight to the side and sighs in relief under the whir of the ceiling fan. 

They have to stop. 

The dreams have to stop. 

Because that's all they are - just dreams. 

Rucking up her gown, she slips her hand beneath the hem of cotton panties, slim fingers finding the opening in her body and pushing in. She presses them in farther, wincing at the stretch. 

This is what girls do.

After a moment, she begins to draw them out, gently rubbing against the slick walls, then slipping back in.

In and out.

She has a vagina and this is what it does, because she's a girl. 

A few moments later, and her body begins to lubricate, just enough to ease the way, and two fingers become three. 

She's fucking her pussy.

She feels dirty, somehow, as if it's _wrong_ , as if it's unnatural, and her stomach rumbles with nausea.

Her fingers keep slipping in and out.

When she wakes, her fingers are still buried between her legs. 

 

***

_A soft, smooth hand grips her gently, manicured nails scratching along skin that's almost too sensitive to bear._

_Her penis— **her penis** —pulses under the attention, globs of liquid pouring from the tip to slick the glide of a stroke that's just too light. _

_She writhes under the not-enough sensation, hips thrusting with a mind of their own._

_The pleasure sparks under her skin, but her mind keeps chanting wrong, wrong, **wrong**..._

 

***

 

The dreams don't stop. 

She tries to carry on during the day, not pausing when she moves and nothing slides around in her shorts, not thinking about how it might feel to be inside Tracy Fuller during Chem Lab, not feeling self-conscious when she enters the room marked "Ladies." 

She wears skirts and make-up. Sticky lip gloss and heels. 

When the weekend rolls around, she finds herself at the after-game party, more than a little drunk. She winds up in a bed upstairs, legs spread as Mike Lewis—Tommy Jenkins' side-kick since the third grade—bulldozes his way inside, trying to ignore the feel of his sweat on his skin, the catcalls from Tommy and his crew outside the door, the moist heat of his breath on her neck as he calls her _sloppy seconds._

The next morning, she's sore and stretched and uncomfortable, but that's the way it's supposed to be, because she's a girl and this is how it goes. 

 

***

 

_Her dick is swelling in her jeans. Julie McEntyre, captain of the cheerleading squad, squats in the hallway gathering her algebra homework from where it's spread on the floor._

_Lust swells in her gut and she slips in behind, pushing Julie over until she's sprawled out over the floor, cute little gold-and-blue skirt flipped up over her back, panties pushed to the side until she's exposed, wet and slick and ready for her dick._

_The slow, steady click of her zipper fills the hall._

 

***

 

A month later, she buys a strap-on.

She spends hours in front of the mirror, thick purple cock standing in stark relief against her pale skin, petting at her sides, tracing the arch of her hipbones, gripping the base of the dildo as she turns to the side, the obscene arch of the plastic jutting out from her body. 

She hates it. 

And yet, she can feel the tingling in between her thighs as her arousal begins to build.

She hates that even more. 

But the more she stands there, twisting this way and that, touching her unnatural erection and pretending she can feel the trace of her small fingers on the rubbery-surface, the more flushed she becomes. 

Abandoning the mirror, she crawls into the bed, plucking the dildo from the straps, and fucks herself through three orgasms. 

When she wakes, she does it again, face pressed into the pillow, hair a tangled mess around her neck, fingers clenching and aching from the strain of her grip, thighs shaking, cunt stretched and sore like it's supposed to be, because she's a girl.

She's a girl.

She's a girl.

 

_She's a girl._

 

 

 

 _FIN_.

 

 

 

***

****[Fic Masterlists](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/166663.html)****

 


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